A Pen
by Wendy402
Summary: From 'Lost (formerly titled The Day She Lost Her Mac)' by Vanilla Coated Love. This is from Chapter 5 when Mikan was challenged to write something about a pen in one hour. I thought it was quite interesting, so I accepted the challenge and wrote what Mikan would have written.


**A very, _very_ short one-shot about a pen—as the title suggested. This was actually an idea from '** **Lost (formerly titled The Day She Lost Her Mac)** **' by Vanilla Coated Love. This is from Chapter 5 when Mikan was challenged to write something about a pen in one hour. I thought it was quite interesting so I decided to take the challenge! Please check that fic out, because it's really _amazing!_**

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A pen.

What is a pen? A pen is just an instrument for writing or drawing, and most people don't even use it anymore.

Why would anyone use a pen when you can use a laptop or a tablet?

To most, a pen is just another _thing_ that they could use for their convenience.

What is a pen to you? Have you ever thought about it?

What is a pen to me? I could tell you, but please don't laugh.

A pen, to me, is a friend. No, I'm not an anti-social freak or a loner, but a pen _is_ my friend—a special friend. Something that I could always count on. Something that could help me express myself when I had no other way to. Something that could help me tell a story.

Sure, I had a laptop. I had _other_ ways to tell stories or write diaries or make memories on. But do you ever have that feeling when you hold a pen? I have the feeling that I could do _anything._ A feeling that made my chest swell.

When I hold a pen, _I_ am in charge. _I_ get to invent everything. _I_ rule that world on the piece of paper. When I hold a pen, I am invincible.

With a pen, I could make everything happen. Nothing is impossible. I can make miracles, I can bring back the dead, I can heal the sick, I can fly, I can see the world from something no one else would even care about.

I could fight dragons in towers or ride on unicorns and pegasus through the clouds. I could be the queen of a million subjects. I could live in castles in the sky or in a city under the sea.

How many stories can a person write?

With a pen, that number is unlimited. With a pen, I could write and write and write until the day I die. A pen will stay with me forever, be passed on to my children, and my children's children.

A good pen could last far longer than a person's life.

A pen was the start of literature. Hundreds and hundreds of years ago, no one had laptops or tablets or even typewriters. A pen and a piece of paper could bring a person far in their life.

Have you ever watched the ink as it flowed out of the pen and onto a milk white paper? How it spreads and twists as your hand guides it? How, after only a few minutes, a pen could fill up an entire sheet of paper with words?

A pen could bring me fortune. It could give me money. The things I write on a pen are much more valued than printed words. At least—they hold more value to me.

I write, and write, and write until my wrists are sore and my fingers are numb. That rarely happens on a laptop. But when I finish a story that I spent so much time working on, and I lift the paper up, full of my own words written in dark, smooth ink, I feel satisfied.

With a pen, my words hold value, because I used time and effort to write it. With a pen, I cannot delete something so easily as others could do on a laptop. My mistakes will forever be imprinted on that piece of paper with a pen, but with that, I can grow.

Years and years later, do you remember what your mistakes were? Can you see them on a word document on a laptop?

Years and years later, when I look at my old, wrinkled, yellow papers filled with ink, I can see how I grew. I can see my mistakes. I can see memories. In that old, wrinkled, yellow piece of paper, I can see the process I took to make it.

People will tell me otherwise. People will tell me I am old fashioned and I'm just wasting my time with a pen, taking ages to write something that would otherwise take minutes on a laptop.

They do not understand. A person does not abandon their friend. _Perhaps_ I am the only one left on Earth using a pen. _Perhaps_ this instrument will go extinct once I die. But it was my friend.

It was my friend for a long period of my life, and I will cherish it. Even if all pens get destroyed in the future, this pen will be safe. I will bury it along with me if no one else will take it. I will protect it, as well as the stories and memories that I made with it.

How much have I grown with a pen? It is unmeasurable.

With a pen, I can write the words _"I love you"_ and give them a thousand meanings from the depth of my heart. With a pen, I could write the words _"I'm sorry"_ and make a person shed tears.

With a pen, I am alive. The things that a pen writes for me show that I have lived, and tells the world _my_ stories. Stories that belong to _me_ , that I can proudly show to others and tell them, "isn't the ink beautiful? Aren't the words clear? My pen is the most wonderful thing on earth."

Am I weird? Perhaps I am. Perhaps I'm just a young girl who has lost her mind while writing stories with her pen.

Perhaps.

Or perhaps I feel too empty to see a person treat their pens as if it worths nothing. Perhaps I wish that I could tell others how much a pen could do.

Perhaps.

And so, I sit, staring at my pen, wondering how many more stories it would write for me. How many more adventures will it go through with me? How many more memories will it create for me?

Without a pen, I am mute. I am broken. I am un-whole. I cannot speak, I cannot show the world my thoughts, my feelings, my memories.

Other's would tell me I am overreacting, after all, it's 'just a pen.'

Would anyone say that a person is 'just a friend?' I wouldn't. I would never even dream of it.

A pen is not 'just a pen.' It is my life, it is what means most to me. You can agree, you can disagree, I won't hold it against you. But if you tell me otherwise, _perhaps_ I'll throw my pen at you.

With this, I have completed another story. I'm not sure if you can call this a _story,_ but with a pen, anything can become a story.

And so, a pen.

A friend.

A storyteller.

An informer.

An author.

Now, tell me, would you?

What is a pen to you?

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 **Short. Yes, very, very short. I actually timed myself and wrote this within and hour. I only had about 9 and a half minutes left when I finished. I hope it was deep. :D I know I am not as good of a writer as Vanilla Coated Love, and this probably wouldn't fit the standards of her story, but I tried. I have _no_ idea what Mikan would have written, and I just wrote whatever was in my head. Personally, I hate using pens. I just can't seem to hold them right and they feel weird. Pens make my handwriting even worse than it was already. But anyways, please tell me what a pen is to you. Comments, suggestions, critics are all very welcome!**

 **R &R Please!**


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